


An Interruption

by FourteenMinutes



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, fun times with blood mages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourteenMinutes/pseuds/FourteenMinutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wholly inaccurate title, actually several interruptions, courtesy of a Pride Demon with a sarcasm problem.<br/>Vidanya Cousland receives some unwelcome advice while trying to seduce Ser Gilmore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Interruption

She watches him across the table as he talks to her father, mumbling on in earnest about the value of wheat. Vidanya isn't listening to the drone of his voice, and from the way her father is nodding sagely every so often, Bryce Cousland isn't either.

But unlike her father, she isn't waiting for Gilmore to finish his particularly bland brand of idle conversation - she's waiting for his eyes to come back to her.

As they do, making their way around the table past her brother to rest firmly on her own, she gives him the benefit of a coy smile and the bat of her lashes, echoing the expression she's seen countless saps give her brother. Her reward is Gilmore's smile as he continues to drone on, and the Couslands continue to politely ignore him.

At the back of her thoughts, a low chuckle echoes, and a frown threatens to spoil her perfectly composed features. Ever since the idea first crossed her mind Conceit found it odious, and she has spent the afternoon waiting for him to comment.

For a pleasant change, however, her personal pride demon is silent as she continues to pursue her carefully laid plan to seduce Ser Gilmore.

When he finishes talking, she quickly steers the topic of conversation to other things, namely her brother's latest flame, and gives herself the reprieve she needs to make her move as her parents begin to needle Fergus.

Feigning interest in her brother's discomfort, she reaches her leg across under the table and runs it down Gilmore's. The movement is a little too hasty, slightly too firm and altogether not as seductive as she'd hoped.

_'You're not very good at this, are you?'_

She almost does frown then at Conceit's interruption, at the self-centred smugness in his tone as he laughs - then she bites the inside of her mouth and retorts.

_'That's why it's called practice.'_

_'Practice, not embarrassment.'_

Ignoring him, she instead moves her leg, repeating the earlier gesture with slightly more finesse and watching as a faint flush rises to Gilmore's cheeks. Then, content with her performance, she withdraws, finishing the meal with only the occasional lingering glances in his direction.

She read something about it once in a romance novel, before Conceit's laughter grew so loud she couldn't hear herself think long enough to read the words. Throwing the book out of the library widow, the embarrassment burning through her veins meant she hasn't been able to pick up any romance literature since.

This is different though, she reminds herself, this is real life, and Conceit can sod off if he thinks he can ruin it for her. The rustling sound that follows is the familiar tune of the demon shaking his head.

Still, her grip on the letter she has hidden in one of the pockets of her skirt tightens, and she finds herself crumpling the edges with nervous fingers. As they leave the dining hall, she makes sure to bump into Gilmore, her fingers lingering on his long enough to slip the note from her hand to his. She does not linger long enough to see his reaction though, starting back off towards her quarters, heart hammering.

It's not the first time she's thought about doing it, simply the first time she hasn't been constrained by time or necessity or pure practicality. In consequence, as she hurtles back to her bedroom her blood sounds louder than normal, albeit not quite noisy enough to drown out Conceit's wry remark.

_'So you actually asked him, and where better than for two would be lovers to meet than down by the lake? How quaint, how cliché.'_

_'You thought I wouldn't do it.'_

_'Me, doubt you? You must have me confused with some other demon, I have only the utmost confidence in your abilities to completely humiliate yourself in romantic pursuits.'_

Times like these she loathes the fact he doesn't have a physical form, that she has to wait until she's a sleep to pick a fight with his stupid spiny face. True to form, the ancient embodiment of a human vice finds her anger nothing more than amusing.

_'I'm upset now. Are you doubting my judgements? Because I've seen enough of human courtship to know that people are generally bad at it.'_

_'Has it ever crossed your mind to help then? Or are you just going to comment?'_

_'What do you take me for, a desire demon? I keep you alive, and that is as far as our deal extends, remember? Everything else is a perk of the job.'_

The truth isn't her favourite thing to hear, particularly when it's the occasional subtle reminder that at the age of eleven she made a deal with the first demon she summoned in the Fade to protect herself from an overzealous Seeker. Although sometimes she does like to wonder whether all demons are as talkative as Conceit, or if she simply picked the most sarcastic one.

It's certainly his favourite trait, and one he makes full use of as she begins to prepare herself, finding fresh skirts and tying her unruly blonde hair up into something that passes for a braid.

_'Please tell me what you hope to achieve by seducing the knight, because if it's simply to annoy me I can think of far more effective ways. Perhaps you wish to frustrate your dear father, in which case I would suggest leaving your mabari in his study, or if it's your mother -'_

_'I like him, okay?'_

_'I myself am rather fond of the taste of Tevinter wine, it does not mean I have an overwhelming urge to compromise myself for it.'_

_'Conceit, I really like him.'_

_'A childish infatuation, nothing more. No doubt you remember him through the bright lens of your childhood, and when his presence warms your heart you think it something akin to love. How impetuous.'_

_'If I wanted to be judged, I would've told my parents. Anyway, why are you so against this? Aren't you a demon, isn't this what you do?'_

Another laugh, and she shivers at the sensation of a claw being drawn down her mind like a nail down her spine. It's his reminder, and it comes with words that sound like his mouth is pressed against her ear. 

_'You wound me. Maybe some lesser demons conflate general debauchery with the human condition, but I have plans. In case you wanted reassurance that I'm not not possessing you out of the kindness of my heart.'_

She doesn't press at that, and he doesn't continue, although as she makes her way out of the castle, excusing herself, and down to the lake he mutters insidiously, his whispers echoing in her head like warnings. But he knows that he has pushed too far, that without his direct interference she is set against him. For all his murmured threats, Conceit does not like to intervene - something about preserving the essence of the human experience. 

When she reaches the water, however, and begins to set the scene in her head of how the evening is going to go, he begins to pick at her imaginings as if taking a pick to plaster. 

At first she ignores him, moving her hands in vague imitation of something she's fairly sure she's seen mages do as she sweeps the area clean, brightens the grass, floods the air with the faint scent of flowers. Then he pokes, and with her hand still half raised she rounds on him, gritting her teeth. 

_'Stop it, now.'_

_'Mm. No. Don't want to, don't have to.'_

_'Now who's being childish?'_

_'You, still, though nice try. You're willingly endangering not only your emotions but one of the very modicums by which your worth is judged in this world.'_

At last, his slightly sullen and surly attitude makes sense, but the reason for it is so ridiculous she bites down on her lip to stop herself from laughing. 

_'Are you serious? This is about my virginity?'_

_'Laugh, by all means, but if you wish for romance by all means do it with someone with some worth to their name - a Bann, an Arl, a King - not some knight who couldn't tell the difference between a woman and the back end of a horse with his eyes closed.'_

_'Incredible, just incredible. You really are something else. You're telling me that if I want to sleep with someone, it should be because they're powerful and not because I feel anything for them.'_

_'I'm a Pride demon. It's all in the name.'_

She doesn't want his justifications, the languid rationalisations that flood her head with his thoughts. For a moment, if just for a moment she wants to be an innocent girl alone in her own head, not a blood mage plus a demon tag along. And if Conceit doesn't like being silenced for once then tough - 

"Vidanya? Is that you?" 

Muffling a curse, she shoves her hands into her skirt pockets and prays that he didn't notice them raised like a spell caster. In her head, Conceit snarls at the sudden interruption, anger flaring. Turning to face Gilmore, she quickly plasters a smile on her features, and conceals a scowl just as quickly. 

"Gilmore, I didn't know for a moment whether or not you were coming." 

"Took me time to get out of the Castle past your parents, I got your note, is there something you wanted to talk to me about?" His breath catches slightly as he talks from what she hopes is trepidation. Conceit is less impressed. 

_'Liar. At least he didn't see you. Or if he did he's doing a very good job of playing the idiot.'_

Still smiling as softly as she possibly can, she walks over to the edge of the lake and beckons Gilmore to join her. 

"I just wanted to talk really. It's been a long time since we've been together on our own long enough to actually have a conversation with just the two of us. How's my father been treating you? I trust your knightly duties have been keeping you preoccupied." 

He talks at length, about this and that, but mostly about himself, and all the while she keeps the same expression stuck on her face that she begins to suspect she may have got stuck that way. It's an opportunity for sniping of the kind that Conceit doesn't know how to pass up. 

_'Self-obsessed, vain and conceited - truly a winner.'_

_'Well I suppose if I sleep with him that will make him the second thing inside of me with that description.'_

Conceit does not retort, but she can hear his laughing echoing inside her mind, and the rigid smile on her lips breaks free of its restraints and curls into a genuine expression of mirth. Busy being exasperated, she misses the next words out of Gilmore's mouth and he cocks his head in confusion. 

"Uh, Anya?" 

"Hm, oh, sorry. I was just thinking." 

"Thinking, huh?" He laughs a little awkwardly, and she seizes the opportunity to glance shyly at him through her lashes. 

"Thinking about what it would be like to kiss you." 

The answer, when Gilmore recovers from shock, is not of the soul-exploding, heart-burning variety she has been led to believe. It's not exactly unpleasant she supposes, just perhaps a little over eager, his teeth and tongue clashing a little too aggressively with her own. 

_'2 out of 10.'_

_'Shut up.'_

It's hard to focus on improving the kissing when Conceit routinely makes snide remarks about technique and ability, and she finds herself losing rhythm as her mind bites back at the unwanted intrusion. Noting her lack of enthusiasm, Gilmore draws back, his face written with an all too familiar strain of friendly concern. 

"Are you okay? Are you enjoying this, I mean, uh, I -" 

"No, no, this is fine." Wrong words, from Gilmore's expression and Conceit's expression of mirth, definitely the wrong words. Nipping her tongue, she emphasises the next words more for the latter's benefit than for the man in front of her. "This is **great**." 

"Oh! Good, do you -" 

Kissing him again, harder and more forcefully serves well to briefly silence both him and the demon, and her brain is left in blissful quiet until a hand begins to wander up the bare thigh beneath her dress. She does not correct him, although in part because she is too busy trying to silence Conceit. 

_'This is terrible.'_

_'Conceit, please.'_

_'Is he caressing a leg or fondling a cow? What? Don't tell me you haven’t noticed the man has all the grace of a rank amateur. I’m afraid enthusiasm is no substitute for skill -’_

_'Please, shut the fuck up.'_

_'And don't get me started on his tongue. I've seen tourneys won by men who moved their foils far less than this man moves his tongue. It's like making out with a Mabari, all slobber and teeth...'_

The image tears her away from the moment, and she finds her fingers growing flush with heat far from the aroused kind. She doesn't notice, not at first, consumed by irritation and a strong desire to punch something that lacks a corporeal form. By the time she realises her fingers are on the verge of sparks it's too late - for Gilmore, apparently. 

He jerks back so suddenly he almost knocks her teeth out, pale face even paler in a stark contrast to his flame red hair. Slowly, with a creeping sense of shame, his hand travels southwards to clutch at his crotch as if it's about to fall off. 

"Sorry. I, uh, I need to go." 

As she watches him run off, she wipes the faint lines of saliva away from around her lips and rounds on the demon on her head, who has fallen conspicuously quiet. 

_'What did you do?'_

_'I only direct. It was your magic that did it.'_

_'Fine. What did I do?'_

_'Well I figured that the best way to prevent this from ending in an embarrassment for you was to end it in an embarrassment for him, coupled with the quickest method known to man for preventing an erection.'_

_'Answer the damn question Conceit.'_

_'Your magic cut off all the blood flow to his penis.'_

With no one around to see it, she physically groans, burying her face into her hands even as Conceit reassures her that no, Gilmore isn't going to lose his dick, and that no, he won't tell anyone about what happened. 

_'Really, it's a win-win. He loses his dignity around you and never comes on to you again, while you are spared the indignity of experiencing sex with a man who thinks kissing is solely about how many fights you can win with your tongue.'_

He sounds all too pleased with himself for Vidanya to admit that he is right, that sleeping with Gilmore is the worst idea she's had in a long time. Plus he knows anyway, existing on the inside of her head, but she can't resist one final remark before gathering up her skirt and heading back inside Castle Cousland. 

_'I hate you, you know that?'_

_'Well if you didn't I'd be worried.'_


End file.
